


Seven Devils in my House

by silenceinmolasses



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cissexism, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Implied Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Other(s), Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Matt as Other Characters, Minor Violence, Mutation, OTP Feels, Pining, Protective Matt Murdock, Season/Series 01, Shapeshifter Matt, Wingfic, genderfluid matt, minor gender issues, no heteronormativity I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 05:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16780624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceinmolasses/pseuds/silenceinmolasses
Summary: Foggy meets the love of his life on his second day in Columbia.





	Seven Devils in my House

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from _Seven Devils_ by Florence and the Machine.
> 
> Happy reading <3

Foggy meets Matt Murdock on his second day in Columbia. They click together fast: Matt's still here and smiling not only after Foggy's mouth runs away from him to tell his new roommate how beautiful he is but also after finding clutters of old feathers as this is Foggy's moulting season. Matt is okay with all of it and Foggy puts _wonderful_ in his Roommate Appreciation List near _heroic_ and _handsome_.

In retrospect, even with the knowledge that any kind of mutation discrimination is forbidden in Columbia, Foggy should have realized that Matt was too accepting.

It happens after a few months. The first batch of essays submitted and a few bottles drunk, Foggy wakes up the morning after, tattering on the very edge of the bed with his roommate behind him, a hand around his belly and a warm breath on his wings. Before Foggy could roll out of the bed - or at least find out which one is supposed to leave -, Matt mashes his face into Foggy's wings, making him yelp.

"A few mo' minutes," an unfamiliar, musical voice grumbles behind him.

They both still. As Foggy, suddenly sober and awake, realizes that the arm, holding him so sweetly, is tan and lean, and, _oh boy_ , he thinks there are breasts pressing against his back, the person jumps out of the bed, landing elegantly on their feet. Foggy sits up, his eyes widening.

The woman runs her fingers through her dark, glossy hair, pats her shoulders, slides her hands down her torso.

She is wearing the same outfit Matt wore yesterday down to the silky men's boxers peeking above the too wide jeans.

Foggy feels a hysterical laughter building up inside him. All questions stuck in his throat but any moment they are gonna erupt and never stop untill he dies of mortification.

"I should have known," the woman hisses, fisting her t-shirt, "shit!"

Her hair fans behind her as she looks up at Foggy. Or tries to: her unfocused eyes stop at his left ear. 

"Matty?" Foggy asks. His jaw drops.

His roommate cringes.

"I'm so sorry for not telling you, Foggy," Matt's back is straight. Downy feathers stick the shirt, slipping off his shoulder.

"Huh? No, this is fine," Foggy stands up. He is much taller than Matt now, "you can shapeshift, right? This is so cool."

Matt lowers his head. Dark locks hide his face until Matt grumbles and wipes them away. Foggy spots his glasses on the desk.

"Your glasses," he brings them, petting Matt's wrist. The model which really fit him in the previous appearance now looks sturdy.

Matt exhales noisily and sits down on the bed.

"Not much of a shifter. I can't control it," Foggy waits for a moment but Matt doesn't elaborate.

Foggy sits down next to him. He stays still when Matt's fingers brush his elbow on their way to his wings.

"Well, I can't fly with my wings. There is nothing to be embarrassed about," Foggy points out, quite reasonably, if he says so himself. 

Matt snorts.

"My mutation makes me involuntarily look like a completely different person while you are an angel. Try again," he sounds almost mean, depreciative. It tickles a bit as Matt plucks out stray feathers. His new fingers are lean and just as strong.

"I'm not an angel, I just have wings," he answers automatically. Foggy looks at Matt and then his eyes slide down; he is not used to seeing the top of Matt's head, "it this what you've been told? Your mutation is not a deception, Matt."

Matt's shoulders are still hunched. 

"So... wanna talk about your shift?" Foggy volunteers.

"I usually change when... uh, my body adjusts to the circumstances I'm in. I expected it to happen months ago. And then... " though Foggy is not used to the expressions on this face, he thinks that Matt looks pensive.

"Well, looking like a beautiful woman definitely helps in college," Foggy says. Matt gapes exactly like the last time, and Foggy puts a foot in his mouth, again, "Guys must love it. Girls must love it?" he dies a little inside when Matt rises his brow.

"Yeah, it would probably happen."

"Should I refer to you as a woman in the first place?" Foggy nudges his best friend who hums, slightly more relaxed.

"When we're out, sure. I think... I prefer my previous body," he says, stretching. He exhales noisily, "I need different clothes."

Matt bites the inside of his cheek and moves his head to the side: in the same way he does when he's embarrassed and tries to hide it.

Foggy ought to stop comparing Matt's mannerisms with... Matt's mannerisms.

Whenever Matt changes in the room, sleepily shuffling out of his old pajama into jeans and a hoodie, Foggy's heart flutters regardless whether he accidentally catches a glimpse of abs or a bra strap.

He admits to himself that he kinda expected different dynamics, assuming like an idiot that a different form would somehow translate into a new roommate. Matty is different, sure, but so is Foggy; everyone grows and evolves and Foggy is not so secretly glad that he catches his frankly unnecessary compliments in time because Matt clearly has some issues with his shapeshifting and Foggy is eager to be helpful.

Matt does not particularly like the body he is in now. Foggy thinks it runs deeper than the annoyance from waking up with blood in between his thighs. On those days they sit extra close while watching Netflix and Matt pinches Foggy when he says a rather clever pun, Matt, you're just mean.

Foggy thought long and Foggy thought hard and for Matt's birthday he got him a chest binder. They ate the cake they made together and Foggy found sprinkles in his wings, was that _itchy_.

Foggy wrote to Candace to ask for some clothes she does not wear anymore; in return, his sister sent a care package of two full bags and some home-made candies with a pointed note to share them with Matt. 

_"Oh, that's very generous," Matt tells him, holding a blouse._

_"It's purple," Foggy supplies before groaning, "she probably thinks I exchanged you into a different friend or something. I will not hear the end of it."_

_"Well, it sure looks like that," Matt quirks his lips , "Disloyal little angel."_

_"Objection! Go to jail, do not pass start, do not collect 200 dollars."_

_Matt shrugs and takes off his T-shirt._

They easily split the sweets: Foggy's been snacking on rhubarb jellies while Matt calls dibs on lemon fudge.

They fit.

They fit... in other cases too.

When Matt introduced himself as a man, people flocked to him like crows to a missing wedding ring; he used to stay until early hours elsewhere. Now that Matt says he's a woman, he comes back late now too, only Foggy doesn't think he's hooking up. He works out more, goes for runs, dressing up more and more warmly as the rainy season descends upon them and the weather goes to shit, and brings Foggy slices of pie, different every time. Foggy joined him once or twice in the gym: it's stunning the way he can move, the strength as he hits the punching bag. And then he comes back to Foggy, his body sharp and smile even sharper. Water pools in his clavicles as he drinks what Foggy gives him. As this sweaty, gorgeous mass of a person presses up against him, resting for a minute or two, his breath warm on Foggy's ear as Matt reminds him to correctly cite his sources for his constitutional law essay, Foggy falls in love just a little bit more.

Foggy thinks Matt's mutation in reality is nurture; he makes Foggy's heart bloom. 

_"Take a softball bat," Matt's fingers are busy on his book as Foggy is putting a scarf around his neck._

_"I'm not going to take a softball bat," Foggy answers incredulously, "I am going to knitting courses."_

_"Have your phone with you," he remarks, his head stubbornly down._

Their campus is comparatively safe so by the time Foggy notices the man following him it is too late. He's older, bigger; though he reeks of liqueur, Foggy can't really escape even with a hurried pace. The bag on his shoulders is heavy with some textbooks he picked up for Matt.

He has to cross a few more streets when the man reaches him, his big, sweaty hand landing on his shoulder.

"Hey, little angel," he leers.

"Excuse me," Foggy shakes it off, his breath picking up. It is warm night, his jacket is crammed into his backpack and his wings flutter in the air. Foggy doesn't think a few coupons for sandwiches in his wallet will do him any good.

A hand wraps around his bicep, making him stumble as the man starts to drag him closer to the shadows.

"Let me go, you..." Foggy hisses, his heart so fast he feels like throwing up. 

_Matt was right about the bat_ , his mind helpfully supplies in a time of crisis. 

And then.

The asshole falls, as if struck. Foggy almost trips with him, the bag a burden but he is pushed aside, gloved hands forcing him up, accidentally pulling on his hair.

He gets not time to check his savior before the dark figure, their face hidden, turns back to the drunk man, moaning on the ground, and kicks him on the stomach. The sound is wet and thick and Foggy freezes as it echoes in his head.

The person continues kicking him, their body taunt.

There is blood on his savior's shoes.

"Wait, stop," Foggy steps closer, "please," his heart tenses as the person moves their head towards him. They breath heavily.

"You saved me, enough," Foggy tries for soft but his voice trembles too much. The person nods curtly and in a few steps reaches the closest dormitory. They easily climb on the first balcony before the tree canopy hides them from the view.

Foggy somehow comes back to the room. Matt is not asleep yet. They drink tea and Foggy thinks he falls asleep to Matt running his fingers through his hair.

*

Foggy is so engrossed in quickly skimming through the first page out of hundreds Landman gave him this morning that he does not hear the clack of the heels stopping right near the half open door. He lifts his head only when the person knocks on the frame.

There is a stunning woman smiling at him, a wide hat hiding half of her face, her thick blonde hair curling near her cleavage.

"Yeah?" Foggy's voice comes out high, "I mean, can I help you?"

"I though I would come check the new interns," she sits on the corner of the desk, her pencil skirt lifts a bit, exposing a peek of lace on her socks.

You would think spending majority of his time with Matt would desensitize him to beautiful people.

"Yes, there we are. I mean, I am waiting for my partner, I'm Foggy Nelson," he stands up, making the chair screech, and extends his hand for a handshake. She takes it, slowly, running her nails down his palm.

"Nice to meet you, Foggy. Perhaps I can show you the ropes over coffee," his name sounds glossy in her mouth, like she bit into something moist. Foggy freezes before chuckling nervously.

He is not really looking... for anyone else. 

"That's super nice of you but I'm kinda," he madly hopes Matt is not around the corner to hear his suave stuttering, "not available?"

The woman's smile disappears.

"You're not? But," she takes off her hat. Her green eyes go past him, unfocused, as she bites her cheek, "you never went out with anyone in college."

"Matt?" Foggy whispers, mortified in his embarrassment.

"Sorry, I thought it would be funny," he says, hunching on to himself.

"No, it's fine, it was funny," Foggy hurries to reassure him, his mouth loose, "I would gladly go drink coffee with all of you," the career in law is not for him; clearly, he should have been a butcher.

"There's _Starbucks_ outside," Matt sits on his chair. His current form is taller than his previous one; he adjusts his chair, "so..." he says warmly, a smirk on his bright red lips.

"We have a lot to do, Matty, chop chop," Foggy moves the stack on papers closer, almost burying his face in the divorce case.

The general work ethics in L and Z is questionable at best but it is the other interns Foggy thinks that take the cake. Mainly it's because of how they react to Matt who, yeah, looks like a beautiful woman no one saw before around here and who positively shines in skirts and heels.

But the two of them are not poor law students anymore who drink discount beer and some of the interns have way better suits while Foggy's hair is still long and to him the bagels in the lunge room are unparalleled. The point is, from the moment the blonde, curvaceous Matt stepped into the glass and steel building which seems more and more like a trap, he received plenty of offers and propositions.

Matt refused all of them. Foggy feels like his own refusal to drink coffee with "a woman" burns bright like a brand; it gives heat like a furnace in their broom closet where they stay late into the night pondering over piles of documents.

He thinks Matt told everybody at L and Z that they are a couple. He's not sure how to address it.

_"Did you tell them we are a couple?" he asks during lunch one day, mouth full of ham and eggs._

_"Yup," Matt is sitting really close, his long hair fanning over Foggy's shoulder, "it makes everything easier. It's only so often I can accidentally ram my cane in their crotches."_

_"Do you want me to do anything?" Foggy takes a sip of his carrot juice, makes a face and pushes the glass towards Matt, "juice on your right."_

_The expression on Matt's face is soft and looks completely unfamiliar as he barely smiles, tension in his shoulders._

_"Gonna defend my honor with fists? You are too nice for that, Foggy..." Matt stops and then bites his lip, "bear."_

_"I think there was an angel joke somewhere," he states flatly as Matt replaces the glass of carrot juice with his iced tea. And the talk is over, just like that._

After a few months of questioning his understanding of the law _(hey, guys, if this business gets its lighting by gas? Because lemme tell you)_ , Foggy's exhausted like he has never been before. He knows what he's about: during a summer in his teens he helped his uncle to manage the tool shop as he and his husband went on a trip for their 20 years anniversary. Sure, late hours and court sessions and murderous glares... but it is powerful people grinding their heels into everybody else that grip Foggy like shark teeth.

This, all this, is gonna break like a glass figurine one of these days as they spend all their time and effort making sure poor people lose their insurance. Matt is always stronger than him, he could pull him out of the chair and find out how his mouth tastes.

The culmination is that they leave right after the offer to be made partners. Foggy fills an empty box with bagels, Matt possibly throws away some important documents and they open their own practice.

*

Their first client is Brett's classmate's niece and the case is simple enough and the young woman is as cool as a cucumber not to take to heart that her lawyers introduce themselves to the world by a piece of paper with a whimsically unreadable first names because _Matthew_ can and will look like _Matilda_ if need be.

Foggy is holding the forth. Ms Laquesha's wings are much bigger than his, glossy like pink spun sugar, so they nod to each other amicably and don't say _angel_. He could manage to build a case quite easily for her all by himself but. He's curious.

It is a big change, right? Their own law practice.

He is in the middle of his talk with the client when the door opens and a pretty woman walks in, glasses and the white cane and all.

"Sorry, I'm late," Matt smiles. This form is slightly taller than his previous one, the blonde hair a shade different and the perfume sweeter. Foggy probably shouldn't catalog everything and then pretend it's all about novelty.

His tastes run according to how Matt looks. It's quite funny, really, because he does not notice anyone else. Hasn't been for a long time.

"No problem," Foggy says, "Ms Laquesha, trespassing. In her defense, it was a hot evening and capitalism sucks," their teenaged client stops picking her nails and chuckles, "This is the better half of Nelson and Murdock."

"Hello," Matt sits down. Foggy pushes a recorder near him (Matty, on your right) and they become unstoppable.

_"Are there any more curly fries?" Foggy asks Josie with a reasonable voice volume. Matt next to him winces, a lock of his hair slips onto the empty shot glasses._

_"Kitchen's closed," the bartender does not lift her head from where she was fixing the jukebox._

_"Oh, no, Matty. Matty, we should make these ourselves, like in college. Why aren't we cooking together as much as we used to?" Foggy lifts Matt's hair, salt and orange juice clinging to the tips, "Buddy, let me do you... let me do your hair."_

_"Whatever you want, Fog," Matt's hand is warm and light on the nape on Foggy's neck, his thumb pressing onto his pulse point._

In the morning both of them wear sunglasses but they win cases anyway, one grateful client after another.

For a short, blissfully safe moment.

The hospital is stuffed and Foggy will remember the smell of singed clothes for a long long time. His was given painkillers but still his side feels wet and stretched to its limits. Mrs Cardenas, bless hear heart, went home after he was admitted.

Foggy was fixing up a hole in her wall, chatting amicably as much as they can when Foggy's knowledge of Spanish consisted of _la biblioteca_ and she used up her knowledge of English asking for how long Matt and he were married. Foggy is not sure his answer was clear enough.

He had enough precious seconds to stand in front of the window to protect Mrs Cardenas as the blow shattered the glass.

His wings took the majority of the impact.

Something wakes him up. Foggy groans into the pillow, realizing it was his own body. His wings itch under the bandages, laying on his back like death weight. He groans again.

His silent phone is close to his face.

Matt hasn't answered even once. This is something he has been doing lately and tonight Foggy's annoyance burned up into concern, worry eating at him like worms in the wet earth. Foggy needs to know Matt is safe.

He has been coming to work with bruises and scratches and Foggy's head hurts whenever clients purse their lips disapprovingly, looking over Murdock, and then become adorably confused as they stare at Nelson's wings.

Foggy would gladly scorch his wings raw if it means Matt's safe.

He thinks he falls asleep again because the next time he lifts his head from a wet spot on the pillow his face was buried into there is a light pressure on his back.

A hand. It strokes up to his hair and then down to his wings.

"Matty?" Foggy mumbles, groping for his phone.

"Go back to sleep," comes an answer. He catches glowed fingers which grip his hand before letting go. The lights are off, but there is enough coming from the window, reflecting gold of Matt's hair. His figure is hunched. Matt's fingers have not stopped touching the area around his wings, feather soft _(hah)_. Foggy closes his eyes again, relief and painkillers heavy like a storm cloud.

"Don't call me an angel," he murmurs. Matt leans closer, his breath steady and warm.

"I might," Foggy thinks he hears him whisper, "though I would rather call you something else."

*

Foggy can't hear the breathing of the man on the couch through the heavy beating of his heart. His chest and throat feel full as if all the light and warmth accumulating in his body through the years he was friends with Matt hardened into a ball.

Everything feels hopeless and lost.

Stupid.

How could he not notice it? How could he not recognize it? Foggy foolishly pretended the Devil didn't matter, that once the novelty wore off, the vigilante would conveniently disappear from the conscience of Hell's Kitchen.

Matt continues to sleep, the stitches on his face and chest keeping his bruises together.

This form is the biggest and most physically imposing so far that he has seen. Matt's dark hair are cropped, his shoulders are buff. He also looks beautiful but Foggy nips this thought in the bud. 

Foggy took such an immense pride in not following the news, too busy with his work and Fisk, that once he had barged into Matt's apartment he let himself be blissfully unaware that the Man in the Mask looked much bigger than before.

How naive.

What does he know about Matt Murdock?

Foggy supposes he shouldn't be surprised that he discovered this little gem by accident: just like shapeshifting.

Who is Foggy to Matt Murdock anyway?

Foggy is in the kitchen, washing and rewashing a glass when Matt sighs, rustling the soft blanket Foggy carefully laid on him.

"I'm sorry, Foggy," his voice is rough and deep, though Foggy thinks it would be like that even if he wasn't torn apart; he thinks about asking how Matt knows it's him, but then he continues: "You must have been scared, I never wanted this for you."

Foggy feels the numbness in his chest burn bright.

"You are sorry about scaring me?!" he splutters, stomping closer. Matt moves his head towards him, dark eyes unfocused.

"Matt, do you know," he exhales slowly in his fury; in his remorse, "do you know what happened to Fisk? Well, I have some good news that we have more time to prepare for a trial coz someone went through Fisk's guards and now he's in a hospital in a critical condition!"

Matt's face remains unmoving.

"It had to be done, counselor," he says quietly, "for all the people he hurt and who were in danger."

"We're lawyers, Matt! We do not... beat up people! There is a system in place," Foggy hisses, sitting down in a chair in front Matt.

"I had a chance to do more. I could help these people in other ways."

"How did you do it anyway? I mean, you can't see," Foggy remembers all those times he recognized Matt only by the familiar and beloved unseeing eyes and he cringes at himself.

"My senses are heightened," Matt smiles with no humor, "hearing and smell. That's enough to win a fight."

Foggy feels vaguely nauseous. His brain scrambles at any familiarity, at any loose thread.

"What can you hear?" he asks hollowly.

Matt's eyes are wet.

"Your heart never sounds like this once you recognize me."

With Fisk's goons out of the commission and Fisk himself unable to continue his mission to improve the life of the residents of Hell's Kitchen by knocking their homes over, Nelson and Murdock quietly works their way to the top. Neither of them enjoys the spotlight much and the media is more interested in the mysterious Daredevil anyway.

The atmosphere in their little office is tense. Matt takes up more space and now his bruises make their clients look at Foggy up and down in sheer panic. That's a nice change of pace, the angry part of him says, though they stare at his wings more too. They healed up... well enough, Foggy supposes. The older feathers look dark against the baby fluff which positively shines when the fluorescents hit it.

Matt spends his work hours imposingly preparing for cases and broodingly eating his lunch when they go out.

_"I was so worried about the knowing-every-time-I-lied thing that I forgot the most crucial aspect of your powers," Foggy says conversationally, brushing cookie crumbs off his jacket._

_Matt inhales like he's gonna apologize again._

_"Which are?" he asks instead, his fingers drumming near his beer._

_"I shed all the time. You probably can hear it?" Foggy shrugs and then his eyes widen, "The smell of the feathers? Good thing you're not allergic."_

_Matt snorts._

_"Yeah, all of that," his voice is gruff. They have not been chatting as much as before so Foggy needs a moment to recognize the humor underneath._

He is still learning how Matt clicks. He is still hopelessly in love.

After that, it's somewhat easier. Matt doesn't wait for Foggy to open doors for him anymore, though he grips Foggy's elbow when they walk just the same. He confidently crosses the space between the rooms and leans to accurately pick up a loose feather from Foggy's wings.

"It was you," Foggy sits up where they are lying down on Matt's couch, his lap top on the table, the youtube video over.

"It was me what now?" Matt mumbles into Foggy's shoulder. He is not moving because Foggy told him not to, stitches over his belly.

"At Columbia. You saved me when I was attacked."

Matt's eyes are still closed. Foggy knows he's not sleeping by the smugness radiating from him.

"I sure did," he furrows his brows; a few weeks ago Foggy would have assumed that means he is annoyed but now he knows: Matt wants to say something.

And Matt, his best friend Matt, presses his lips against the dancing pulse on Foggy's throat.

That's... that.

*

Foggy's running late: he had to visit his cousin, the subway was a mess and it's too cold without a hat, even with his luscious locks falling on his ears.

The hall to the door of their office isn't much warmer but it smells of apples and cinnamon. Foggy inhales deeply. There is something else too underneath but he is not the one with super senses.

He hopes Matty's enjoying the morning, surrounded by warmth and apple pie.

The doors open before he touches the knob. He stumbles a bit, readying to make a joke when he is met with the most beautiful man he's ever seen.

With the most beautiful man he has seen before. He's wearing a Christmas-themed tie, a stylish stubble on his chin, eyes eager and staring over Foggy's right shoulder.

"Oh, sorry," the very first Matt he met invites him in.

"You grew up well," comes out and Foggy feels like he's eighteen again.

Matt grins, easy and warm.

"You have been with me this whole time," he takes Foggy's hand and leads him to the table. There is a cloth on it, an apple pie and two steaming mugs of tea.

And flowers.

There is a bouquet of alstroemerias, white and pink and pretty, in the middle of it all.

Foggy's heart jumps.

"Matty," he starts and trails off. 

Matt gently pushes him towards a chair and sits down next to him. His hand is still warming Foggy's.

"Mr Ackermann came to thank us," he points to the pie, "We have no clients scheduled for the morning so I thought we could talk," Matt is radiant. Foggy can his pulse in his wrist, fast just like his own.

"Why did your form change, Matt?" Foggy asks.

"You kept finding out things about me that you should have always known," Matt swallows dryly, "I shifted because I don't want to waste anymore time," Matt lifts Foggy's hand, kisses his red knuckles, "because you make me brave."

Foggy waits graciously; not really, he's too emotional to talk.

"I have always loved you," Matt says quietly, reverently, "You are the only one for me."

"Me too," Foggy manages before Matt leans closer and kisses him. The press of his lips is soft, the tip of his tongue is slick and warm. Foggy shifts closer as Matt's free hand traces the newly grown feathers on his wings.

"Oh, no," Foggy whispers as Matt smiles gleefully against his mouth.

"You can't stop me anymore," he presses closer, his arms, his chest, his hips, "you can't stop me calling you angel anymore."

"Not an angel," Foggy indulges him, nuzzling closer. Their open mouths brush briefly.

"You are an angel and you are mine."


End file.
